A Way Out
by Melantha Delmar
Summary: Her life is in shambles. Everything has been an empty promise, a parade of foolery. What can be left for one such as her?


**A Way Out**

The girl sat in silence, staring at the silver cauldron in front of her. She was gazing at her reflection with the dull look of one without a reason to care much about what gazed back at her. It wasn't much of reflection at any rate. The sight of her limp brown curls, pale brown eyes, and pug nose, all warped by the curvature of the cauldron, certainly weren't worth bragging about. Tilting her head slightly to the left, she studied the lines that tugged down the corners of her mouth, the ashen cast to her skin, the look in her eyes that asked why she hadn't given up yet.

Sitting back, she let out a slow breath and realized she'd been holding her lungs full of air for close to two minutes. Colored spots danced before her eyes as she slumped in her chair trying to catch her breath. Long moments passed before the spots cleared and she could inhale without trembling.

"Pansy, what _are_ you doing?"

Pansy's eyes snapped toward Draco so fast her head spun in response. Reeling slightly, she grasped the side of the desk and pulled herself forward.

"Nothing," she said, lowering her gaze and picking up her quill. The black eagle's feather quivered as she slid a piece of parchment toward her and began jotting down notes, pretending she had been paying attention. "I just drifted off, is all."

"Well, if that's all," Draco replied, his look of askance quickly replaced with one of boredom. Pansy bit the edge of her lip and the cauldron sitting upon the desk reflected the sudden whiteness of her skin there. Placing the heel of her hand against her cheek, she was not surprised to find the skin cold and seemingly lifeless. Everything about her seemed cold these days, from her frigid touch to the icy indifference that had become her mindset. It did not seem to help that no one else had noticed her recent lack of feeling.

Class soon ended, and Pansy let herself be jostled toward the door by her fellow students. Clutching her books to her chest, she drifted down the hallway numbly, hardly noticing the people who pushed her out of their way in hurrying on to their next class.

This past school year had been one long hell for Pansy Parkinson. It had started with her father; who had been found a Deatheater, tried, and sentenced to life in Azkaban. And then her mother, in desperation, had named other prominent pureblood families as fellow Deatheaters. In exchange, she had been brutally murdered by those seeking revenge before the Ministry ever got a chance to judge her in trial. As a result, Pansy had been taken away from the only home she'd ever known and shunted off to an old and decrepit aunt who seemed to want nothing to do with her, much less comfort her in the face of all she had so suddenly lost. At school, most of her friends now ignored her (seeing as it was their relatives whom Pansy's mother had indicated in her fruitless attempt to exonerate herself). Pansy was miserable and even Draco Malfoy's increased interest in her paled before her melancholy in light of the fact that it was because he now knew she was the only existing line of an old and noble pureblood family. She had no cousins, no brothers or sisters, and he couldn't count her mother's betrayal against her because his father had done the same thing, long ago, to save himself. Pansy knew that his sudden attention to her was purely businesslike; an effort to keep their kind alive in an increasingly hostile world. In a few short months, Pansy had been confronted with the cold reality of her world – that it was false, an empty existence without meaning, and had been, though she'd never before been aware of it. Before she knew it, depression had claimed her, pulling her into its gaping maw without a sign of letting go.

And then yesterday had happened.

* * *

Pansy ran down the hallway, her face streaked with tears and pink in the exertion of unexpected exercise. Her feet pounded against the marble floor of the entrance hall and carried her outside where the sky above her was black and the stars low and menacing. Running without a thought to the direction, she flew through the night trying hopelessly to think of someone who still cared for her, of some reason why she shouldn't end her wretched life and be done with it.

Within a few short minutes, Pansy had crossed the grounds of Hogwarts and was standing at the edge of the barely-frozen lake. Her chest heaving, she searched for air and sanity. Neither came with any alacrity.

Putting a hand to her head, Pansy stared up at the unfriendly stars and tried to calm her sobbing. Nothing helped. She thought about everything that had ever happened to her in her empty life. She tried to think of some good memory that might provide an excuse to step back, an excuse to live on. Nothing came. She lowered her gaze to the glistening silver surface of the lake and took a shuddering breath. Nothing happened.

Dropping her cloak on the ground, Pansy took a step forward. The tender ice held her weight and she took another step, her breath coming in intermittent puffs of white air from her mouth. Slowly, trembling with cold and apprehension, she made her way across the lake. When she'd almost reached the middle, she heard an ominous creaking sound and cried out in sudden terror.

"Relax," a low voice called to her across the ice. "It was only me."

Pansy turned about, reflexively drawing her wand and pointing it at the boy who stood near shore, watching her movements intently.

"Who… Who are you?" Pansy asked, her voice faltering.

"Doesn't much matter," the boy answered calmly. Pansy wished there was more moonlight; she couldn't see the boy's face; only his dark outline, tall and unwavering on the shore.

"Well, what do you want?" she demanded.

For a long moment, only silence answered her, and Pansy began to think she'd just go on about her task and ignore his intrusion. As she took another step further onto the ice, the boy replied, "Please stop."

"Stop?" she echoed, peering down at the frozen water and wishing she were already beneath it. "Why should I stop?"

"Because," the boy answered her. "I'm here now, and it's not worth it."

Pansy frowned and whirled about again. "Listen, just _who_ are you?" she demanded, lighting her wand and flashing it across the ice. The boy blinked at the sudden light and threw up a hand to block it from his eyes, but Pansy had already seen who he was. Drawing back in surprise, she had a brief second to feel utter bewilderment wash over her, and then she heard the ice crack.

Pansy shrieked as the ice collapsed beneath her feet and she plunged into the freezing water below. For a moment she couldn't think, or even breathe, as the shock of the temperature accosted her body. Then pain hit her in every direction and her head broke the surface. Pulling in a great draught of air, Pansy screamed, yelling for help from the boy who was already scrambling over the ice on all fours toward her. Panic took her as she grabbed for the edge of the ice and it broke away. The boy lay flat on his stomach and held out his arms to her.

"Here," he was gasping. "Here, grab hold and I'll pull you out!"

Pansy struggled toward him, stretching out her hands, but her body was already becoming numb, her mind slowly going into shock. The boy, seeing that she wasn't going to reach him on her own, pushed himself forward until he was precariously close to falling into the water himself.

"Come on," he commanded her, "Reach for my hands; I'm right here! Come on, you can do it, Pansy!" His words hit her and she thrashed in the water until her fingertips brushed his. He grabbed one of her wrists and dragged her toward him. Once she was close enough, he took hold of her shoulders and she grasped him by his forearms. Sliding backwards carefully, he pulled her up, hauling her out of the water.

She fell on the ice beside him, coughing up a lungful of frigid water, and shivering so violently that the whole world seemed to shake around her. The boy didn't even stop to catch his breath. He seized her by the wrists again, and pulled her as fast as he could crawl back to shore. When he got there, he picked her up, wrapped her cloak around her, and staggered onwards, toward the school.

Teeth chattering, Pansy stared up at her rescuer. His mouth was set in a thin line as he struggled with her weight, trying to force his legs to run. Frightened to the marrow, Pansy nonetheless took time to take stock of the boy's appearance, seeing ice already freezing in his hair and feeling the shaking in his muscles as he attempted to repress his shivers. He was without cloak or jacket, but had on only a scratchy wool sweater with a prefect's pin on its shoulder. She wondered vaguely what he'd been doing outside without proper garments, and then gasped as a wave of heat hit her and she felt her body protest as though a hundred knives had just been thrust into her.

"Stop," she murmured, hands reaching up to the boy. "Stop. Just put me down right here. It's hurts too much." Her eyes rolled wildly and she yelled, "STOP!"

He lurched to a stop and sank to the ground, his knees giving out beneath him. Pansy was gasping in pain, unable to see that he'd brought her into the nearest building to them – one of Professor Sprout's greenhouses. Her eyelids fluttered as she fought not to black out.

"Sorry," the boy panted. He rose to his knees, and pulled her twisted cloak from around her. "But you have to get warm sooner or later. And sooner is better than later." He spread the cloak over her, and then lay down beside her, quietly trying to catch his breath.

Pansy shook beneath the cloak, twisting with the pain the heat brought to her cold body. Her eyes closed as she felt herself mentally reeling in an effort to process what had just happened to her.

Minutes passed. Finally, the pain began to fade and Pansy pushed the cloak from her shoulders, sitting up. Still breathing hard, but not so much from her plunge into the lake anymore, she turned to the boy lying beside her.

"Why'd you do that?" she asked abruptly. "You didn't have to go and risk your own life like that."

He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "If I hadn't saved you, who would have?" he asked. "Besides, I know why you were out there."

"How could you know?" she snapped, feeling life return to her. "You can't know why the hell I was out there. You're a bloody Gryffindor for Merlin's sake."

He shook his head and sat up. "My house has nothing to do with it. I know all about despair, Pansy, and you're in it so deep that it radiates from you like a beacon."

She was silent for a moment, staring at him uncertainly. "If that were true, somebody should have noticed by now," she said at last, her voice surprisingly soft, without malice or resentment.

The boy tilted his head. "I've noticed, haven't I?"

"What do you want?" Pansy asked, as though it were a perfectly natural follow-up.

"The same thing you want," he answered, and Pansy thought he sounded so sincere that her heart would have broken if it hadn't already been lying in shatters.

* * *

"Pansy, why don't you sit down?"

"Huh?"

"Sit _down_," Draco said, yanking her down onto the bench beside him. Pansy came out of her reverie and stared around the Great Hall, wondering when the bell for dinner had rung. She put her books on the table and picked up a silver goblet to take a sip of pumpkin juice.

As she did so, her eyes crossed the Great Hall to where a tall Gryffindor prefect was just now sitting down to his supper. All around him, his friends were laughing and happy, but he sat in silence, watching them with an odd expression on his face, half-jealousy, and half-pity. Pansy slowly set her goblet down, and watched as the boy set his chin in his hand and stared as his best friends happily kissed each other to the cheering of the other Gryffindors. He blinked suddenly, and his gaze switched to her, his eyes strangely beseeching.

"Did you hear what I just said?"

Pansy pulled her eyes away from Ron Weasley's and looked at Draco. "No," she replied truthfully. "What did you say?"

He rolled his eyes. "I _said_: I always knew those two were meant for each other. Scarhead and the Mudblood—hey! Where are you going?"

Pansy didn't bother to make any excuses. _If I hadn't saved you, who would have? _Leaving her books behind, she rushed out of the Great Hall as fast as her feet could carry her. _The same thing you want._ Once she was outside, she stopped short and slumped against the wall, feeling conclusions crash down on her with brutal insistence. _I always knew those two were meant for each other._

She heard the sound of footsteps and looked up. There stood Ron before her, his dark eyes trying to ask her a million things at once. _I'm here now, and it's not worth it._

"What were you doing outside last night?" Pansy asked breathlessly.

He looked startled and hesitated before answering. "I was looking for a way out," he replied finally.

"And you found me instead," Pansy breathed. She almost laughed at the irony of it all. "Just like I've now found you."

"What do you mean?" He frowned, not understanding her meaning.

The Slytherin girl smiled at him. "I've figured out what we want." And she raised herself up on her toes to kiss him.

**_Inspiration for this came after listening to some problems my friend was having, and then watching Titanic. Not a particularly uplifting combination... Then again, I've always had a penchant for writing bittersweet one-shots, so... Maybe this fic was inevitable. It does have a sister-fic in the same spirit -- Wild is the Wind -- about Ginny and Blaise._**


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